Harry Potter:Primal Fury
by BUYA Shinkenshi
Summary: After leaving King's Cross Harry is abducted and used in a dangerous series of experiments only to return a year later with a deadly secret....RR no ship as of yet
1. Prologue: Beginnig

Primal Fury

Prologue:

Deep in the Indonesian jungle in a seclude grove a chameleon slowly stalks its insect prey. Unbeknownst to the chameleon that below its treetop home many miles below the earth is a compound where a horrifying chain of events is about to take place. It is in inside of this compound, inside one of its many research facilities that our story takes begins.

A tall Japanese man dressed in an orange flowery Hawaiian style shirt and bright blue shorts paced in front of a computer console behind him is a long black table seated with scientists and executives. In front of each is an in descript manila folder. Paper-clipped to the top of the folders are various photographs of a teenage boy.

The Japanese man ran his fingers through his bright green Mohawk. He sat down in the chair at the head of the table of executives, his back to the large blank screen. His placed his sandaled feet upon the table and begin to hum a tune, completely oblivious to the screen above his head.

Suddenly the screen flickered to life as the scowling face of a man with slightly graying hair appeared. The man's scowl deepened as he glared down at the green haired man. "Busuzima!" the green haired man fell to the floor, "yes sir Director," "You worthless little ingrate! This how you repay me for saving you from the ZLF! You thank me for keeping you alive by destroying my laboratories and damaging my equipment! And for what nothing this so called experiment is nothing more than a failure! Over and over again you have given me nothing more than excuses! I want results!"

Busuzima groveled before the screen "I understand, Director. I will not fail again,

I have located the perfect subject for the project. This time sir we have a prime target one that we are sure will be able to withstand the procedure and survive." Busuzima had a look, oddly enough, of what seemed like pleasure on his face.

The Director sneered at the man, "You do know that you disgust me Busuzima." The Director sighed, "But you know as well as I that this experiment could not be done without you. You are a genius albeit a demented and repulsive one but a genius all the same and the only person capable of implementing this procedure correctly."

"I trust that this one isn't a vagrant or another homeless person that you abducted." Busuzima shook his head, "Good, because I don't have to tell you what would happen if you fail this time do I? Don't not delude yourself Busuzima granted you are so far the only one who can utilize the system that doesn't mean that I won't hesitate to kill you if you fail one more time. It is imperative that this experiment succeeds. Do you understand?"

Busuzima nodded slightly, "When will the subject arrive," Busuzima checked his watch "soon sir. I've the retrieval team to "acquire" him. I've sent Steven Goldberg along sir." The Director raised an eyebrow, "You sent Stun to collect the subject?" Busuzima nodded, " Stun is part of the experiment the subject will have to engage him in order to test his abilities" The Director nodded "Excellent send me a message to let me know when he arrive with the subject."

The screen went blank and Busuzima spat at it. He turned to the people gathered behind him, "Let's prepare our subject's going to arrive at 0800, we have three hours to prep the lab." Soon he was all alone in the conference room. Busuzima picked up one of the folders and gazed down at the photograph clipped to it. With a sneer he threw the folder down onto the table and it slid across until it rest on the far side of the table. Its contents scattered across the black surface. Busuzima picked up one photo and placed in his pocket. On the photo was a teenaged boy with unruly black hair and intense green eyes. Above his right eye was a pale lightning bolt shaped scar. At the bottom of the photograph was the name Potter, H.J.


	2. Chapter 1: Abduction

Primal Fury

Chapter One: Abduction

Harry trudged on dejectedly as he followed his 'family' out of King's Cross Station. With a small sigh, he took one last look at his friends as they happily waved him off, Remus as well as the other members of the guard had solemn looks on their faces as Vernon shoved Harry along. Harry knew he shouldn't blame them but, part of him hated them for abandoning him and letting the Dursley's take him away.

As they reached his uncle's car Harry stole one quick glance and a small wave, before Vernon grabbed him roughly by the back of his neck and threw him forcibly into the backseat. Vernon turned to face the group of freaks assembled not ten feet from him and smirked. His moustache making the look even more unsettling, Vernon then motioned in Harry's direction and drew his forefinger across his throat.

Remus made to draw his wand only to have Mad-Eye stop him. Moody shook his shaggy head, "Not now Lupin the he's trying to bait us into attacking him. He's in Muggleland now anything we do will be seen by hundreds of Muggles. We can't afford that right now. Do you know what that kind of exposure would do to us at this moment; it would cause mass hysteria around the world. The Muggles are already to launch an attack on wizarding kind, why give them the incentive they already have the guns why 'cock and load em' for them too." Remus turned to face Moody, "I know that Alastor, but Harry's all I've got left. I can't lose him too. First James and Lily, and now Sirius I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to him."

Moody nodded, "I understand your feelings Lupin but it doesn't change the fact that if we expose ourselves in the middle of a crowded forum it'll cause mass hysteria." Moody nodded in the retreating car's direction, "Besides that damned Muggle won't touch the boy he's too afraid of him to do anything." By this time Remus' and Moody's little chat had everyone's attention.

"What do you mean by that Mad-Eye?" Tonks' was the first to question the ex-Auror's statement. Moody's face turned serious, "What I mean missy is that just like us that Muggle has no idea whatsoever what that boy is truly capable of." Moody turned to stare at the car as it began to vanish from sight, "That boy has some serious untapped potential, he's got so much energy within him, he's a walking time-bomb. That and the fact that his magical strength will soon surpass Dumbledore and Voldemort combined. That boy is coming into his own and he's going to become a right powerful wizard." Tonks raised an eyebrow, "You do mean a powerful light wizard right Moody?" Moody turned his magical eye upon her, "No. I said that 'he was going to become a powerful wizard' in his own right. I never specified whether or not he was going to be a light or dark wizard." Moody turned his magical gaze upon the entire group before returning it to Tonks. "And that is what I mean, lass." Moody bowed his scarred head before whispering into the wind, "Be careful lad you're in for one hell of a ride."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the auto squished between Dudley and the rear door. Harry turned his body slightly so that his back was to Dudley. He sighed softly as he began to stare out of the window and watch the cars go by. After nearly an hour of riding with his face against the car window, Harry began to take notice of the sudden absence of other motorists on the freeway.

Harry felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him as he gazed around at his 'family'. Vernon had for what seemed like every few seconds now, shifted his gaze from the road to stare at Harry through his rear-view mirror. Petunia began to pale slightly and started to clench and unclench her fist. Dudley continued to stare at him with his beady pig like eyes. It was at that moment when time started to slow down. Harry watched as two nondescript black vans appeared from a service road and begin to flank their car. Harry's sense of dread continued to grow deep in the pit of his gut, as he realized that Vernon's car was slowing. Harry turned to the window in hopes of spotting anyone who could help him if the need be.

In his frantic search Harry didn't notice his wand slip out of his pocket and fall to the floor. A loud series of clicks issued throughout the car. Harry's eyes went straight to the locks. As he reached to unlock his door he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, followed by a sharp pinch-like pain in the side of his neck. Harry grabbed his throat and turned to see Dudley holding an empty syringe in his right hand and a small glass bottle in his left. Harry's eyes grew wide as his body began to feel extremely heavy.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Dudley and tried to move toward him, "What'd you do to me?" Harry's words slightly slurred as the tranquilizer began to take hold of his body.

'_I have to get out of here' _Harry racked his slowing brain to find a way to escape. "Why would you do this too me," his voice barely above a whisper.

Vernon turned to face Harry, "Because you Goddamned freak. Ever since you came along I've had nothing but grief. But now I'll forever be rid of your taint. Vernon grabbed Harry by his shirt collar and pulled him close, "Where you're going boy, everyday with you had with me will seem like heaven." With that he backhanded Harry into the car door. "Nighty- night you little abomination." Helpless as a dishrag, Harry was dragged roughly from the car. He lashed out, or at least tried to, only to be pummeled into the cold hard pavement by vicious unseen fists. With the last of his waning strength Harry fought back. But as the powerful sedative began to take its hold, Harry's consciousness began to fade into a pool of nothingness.

The last thing Harry saw as he was being dragged from the car was his uncle shaking hands with a blonde haired American man. The man turned to watch his cohorts place Harry into his restraints his eyes filled with a malicious glee. Though unconscious Harry could fell the man's sinister gaze a shivered slightly. Little did he know that the man and his stare would haunt him for the years to come.


	3. Chapter 2: The Hive

Primal Fury

Chapter 2: The Hive

_Three yearslater…_

Behind angular glasses that gleamed in the dim light with eyes that gleamed almost equally, the Professor watched the medical team labor over their patient. A dozen physicians and specialists crowded around the naked figure of a teenaged boy cocooned behind the thick walls of a translucent tank. The boy aptly named "Subject '00'", for the numbers tattooed on his right arm and the barcode on the nape of his neck floated inside his Plexiglas coffin immersed in a greenish chemical soup, compromised of interferon-laced plasma, molecular proteins, and cellular nutrients, along with a kind of synthetic embryonic fluid of the Professor's own devise.

_A few ounces of that murky liquid were more valuable than those technicians could ever imagine. It was worth more than the average North American skyscraper, and far more to the elite few who actually understood its true purpose._

The Professor's thought was interrupted by a small flashing light on his console. The team leader was informing him that the delicate preparatory process was nearing completion. The Professor gazed around at his surroundings and nodded to himself pleased with what he saw. Like Subject '00''s air tight coffin, the Professor's own chamber was hermetically sealed. It was an electric realm of steel and glass, fiberglass cables and silicon chips. Inside this chamber, computers purred and processors hummed loudly, their melodies music to the Professor's ears. Polished adamantium steel dully reflected scrolling streams of data on flickering monitors and banks of high-definition TV screens.

The Professor's rail thin body sat erect and motionless on his ergonomic throne, his pale flesh stretched taut over his prominent cheek bones. Coolly, he appraised the medical procedures as they played in real time on a large central monitor. A rare smile curled his thin lips as he quietly observed the team's progress. Despite wearing somewhat restrictive environmental hazard suits, cumbersome helmets, and bulky air scrubber, the medical staff performed their assigned duties quickly and efficiently, so efficiently in fact, that Subject '00' would be ready for the first experiment tomorrow morning, well ahead of the original schedule provided by Busuzima.

The preliminary work had gone splendidly, And why not? Had he not trained them himself, demanded the highest degree of professionalism, commitment, and self-sacrifice from every last one of them? And despite what that incompetent oaf believed they had done their jobs effectively and efficiently. Another thin smile crossed the Professor's face, the fool Busuzima had no idea who he was dealing with. A sneer crossed the Professor's face as his thoughts came to center on Busuzima and the Director.

Turning his attention back to his observations, the Professor pressed a small button on his console. On different level of the compound, a blinking light alerted a second medical team that their skills would soon be needed. The Professor nodded as the second team began their trek to the main laboratory, everything was going off without a hitch. He manipulated everything that went on inside the immense research facility from this command-and-control center. Via constant digital recordings, the Professor was aware of every action, heard every sound, he knew of every sneeze, itch, or twitch that transpired within its walls. Billions of bits of data traveled to the traveled to the Professor's haven, through hundreds of miles of fiber-optic cables. An information network that snaked its way through every room, every vent, every wall, all at his disposal. Poised like a spider in a technological web, the Professor surveyed his domain from the center of the vast complex. From behind sealed doors and coded locks, he could access any accumulated data, observe any experiment, and issue commands with the flick of a switch or the slightest utterance of a spoken order.

Here he sat at the pinnacle of a technological heaven; he could do anything he wished. The laboratories and the facility was his to use as he pleased, as long as he complied with the Director and his precious Busuzima. As the Professor mused over his predicament he did not notice the small whirring sound as a tiny micro-cam in the corner of his chamber focused slightly upon his hunched frame recording his every move.

The Professor turned his attention back to Subject '00', his main priority, through the monitor the Professor viewed the arrival of the second medical team. With a slight hiss, the pressurized door to the main research lab opened, and the group moved in to position to replace the preparatory staff. The members of this new team were clad in the same bulky environmental suits, worn not to protect them, but to shield Subject '00' from the threat of contamination, a necessary precaution.

The task of this second team was to fit Subject '00' with a variety of biological probes designed to monitor bodily functions, along with hollow injection tubes sheathed in Teflon. These tubes were crucial to the success of the bonding process. The Professor's long-fingered hands, the hands of an aesthete, he liked to think, played across a custom- made ergonomic keyboard that only he could decipher. Abruptly, the ubiquitous whir of air-scrubbers and the constant hiss of the climate-control systems were drowned out by the small snatches of conversation and ambient sounds transmitted from the medical lab.

Scrolling data vanished from the supplemental view screens, only to be replaced by images of men in protective suits crowding around the simmering, transparent coffin. Dr. Hendry, the team leader, his environmental hazard suit marked with a broad green stripe, to signify his status, studied Subject '00' through the opaque fluid.

"Who shaved the patient?" At Hendry's side a man raised his hand. "I did." Hendry shook his head as he gazed down at the subject. "What did you use, poultry shears?" The man looked up. "What?" Hendry turned to face the man. "Look at the man." He pointed to the lone figure floating in the clear, rectangular tank. Behind his faceplate, the other man seemed perplexed. "That's really weird. I shaved him almost twenty minutes ago, and he was as smooth as a billiard ball…" "Could have used a haircut, too," observed another member of the team. The physicians and specialists took their positions around the Plexiglas coffin, gazing mutely at the figure inside. The pale pink male form was swathed in a whirlpool of swirling bubbles. His raven hair drifted around his head like a black storm cloud. A flexible steel breathing tube looped down from a wheezing respirator to a mask that completely covered the subject's nose and mouth. This technological umbilical chord also contained various sensors, tubes that supplied nutrients, and needles to administer drugs if necessary.

The silence was broken at last by a trundling medical cart pushed by a nurse clad in the same bulky gear worn by the others. On the cart's antiseptic surface sat an array of surgical probes resembling medieval torture devices more than any modern medic.0al implement. Each gleaming probe was compromised of a hollow, razor sharp stainless steel spike, some as long as six inches, others as short as an inch. A long, flexible tube was attached to each spike's base, along with wires to channel biological information to various monitoring devices.

Many of these probes would be used to measure and evaluate the subject's mundane bodily functions, heart rate, blood pressure, basal metabolism, body temperatures, electrolyte balance, respiration, hormonal activity, digestion and elimination, and brain functions. Others would be used for more arcane purposes. As the Professor remotely observed the procedure, the team leader began to attach the first probe.

Reaching into the simmering stew, Dr. Hendry plunged a slender four-inch spike directly into the brain of Subject '00', through a small hole drilled into the cranium above the left eye. A flurry of movement erupted inside the tank. The medical team was taken by surprise when the subject jerked once, then opened his eyes and stared up at them, seemingly aware of his surroundings.

"What the hell?" A man off to the side spoke first. "How in the…" Hendry cut him off. "Back away from the subject," Dr. Hendry commanded even as he stood his ground. The subject's eyes appeared focused and alert, though the pupils were dilated. Subject '00' tried to speak as well, but the sounds he made were muffled and incomprehensible behind the bubbling respirator and whirring machinery. "The goddamn tranquilizer is wearing off." The neurologist's tone was critical. "I don't understand. We pumped enough the shit into him to stun an elephant!" said the anesthesiologist defensively. "I can't believe it, either, but look at his brainwave patterns." The neurologist stepped aside to display the encephalograph's readout to the rest of the team.

"You're right." The anesthesiologist could hardly believe it. He had never seen anything like it. "The subject's still in a fugue state, but he's slowly regaining consciousness, despite the sedatives." "Okay, I want Thorazine. Four hundred and fifty CCs. Stat." Dr. Hendry extended his hand for the hypodermic gun. His surgical assistant lifted the injector, loaded a plastic vial of the powerful drug into the device, and then hesitated. "Are you sure about the dosage?" the assistant asked weakly. "The Thorazine is going to mess up his brain functions something awful and 450 CCs…" The assistant's timid voice trailed off, but the meaning was clear. The high dosage of the serum would kill the subject. Dr. Hendry gazed at through his faceplate at the ghostly silhouette thrashing inside the coffin-shaped tank. The subject chest was heaving, his jaw moving behind the breathing mask. "If he comes around, he's going to mess us up something awful," Dr. Hendry replied. "But that's a huge dose, enough to finish him, maybe…" The anesthesiologist's wasn't as weak as the assistant's but it faded, too. He'd felt obligated to sat it, though he knew it didn't matter. Not with Hendry in charge.

Watching from his sealed chamber, the Professor grunted in irritation and keyed the intercom. When he spoke, his harsh voice and sharp tone thundered inside the medical lab as well as the team's environmental hazard helmets. "Administer the Thorazine at once. In the dosage Dr. Hendry prescribed. The patient must not awaken. Not again." Hendry snatched the hypodermic gun away from his assistant and plunged the injector into the churning tank. The hypodermic hissed, and Subject '00' tensed as a violent spasm wracked his thick frame. Soon, however, the subject's eyes closed and his respiration and blood rate slowed.

"He's out," said the neurologist. "Blood pressure normal. Heart rate normal. Breathing is shallow, but the respirator will force sufficient oxygen into his lungs," the anesthesiologist noted with relief. Inside the helmet, Dr. Hendry tried to shake the perspiration out of his eyes. "For a second there, I thought we were going to have to release the cyanide." "Then we'd know how good these hazard suits really are," someone quipped. The attempt at humor broke the tension of the moment, but the laughter that resulted was forced.

"Continue the procedure," the Professor's voice commanded. Dr. Hendry lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if searching for the invisible cameras that recorded every step of the delicate process. After his assistant slapped a long probe into his gloved hand, Hendry reached into the boiling mixture and plunged the needle-sharp skewer directly into the subject's abdominal cavity. Again, Subject '00' tensed as tremors rocked his muscular frame. The Professor keyed his intercom. "There's been another spike in brainwave functions." he said, observing the data on his private touch screen monitor. This time, Hendry backed away from the tank with the rest of his team.

"What should we do, Professor?"

"I want you to use the biodampeners to inhibit Subject '00''s brain functions." The anesthesiologist spoke up again. "But, Professor, we've already administered enough Thorazine to…" The Professor interrupted, "… stun an elephant, yes but it appears that the sedative does not seem to be _effective_," the Professor murmured. "As you can plainly see, Subject '00' is hardly…" he paused for effect, "… placid." Hendry signaled another member of his team.

The man stepped forward, cranial probes in hand. The rest of the staff retreated to allow the specialist enough room to work. But before he attached the probes, the psychiatrist spoke. "If you wish, we can activate the Reifying Encephalographic Monitor. Interface with the brain should be fairly simple while the subject is unconscious…"

"That will not be necessary," the Professor replied.

"The dampeners will suffice, for now." The psychiatrist accepted the answer without argument and went to work. "Will you be joining us in the medical lab, sir?" Hendry asked. "Shortly, Dr. Hendry. Shortly…"

Within a few minutes, all of the cranial probes were in place and the devices activated. The readouts indicated that the biodampeners; tiny devices that emitted low-level electromagnetic waves that are used to short circuit brain activity, had done the trick. Subject '00' would not awaken now. Not until they wished it. "You may proceed," said the Professor. Satisfied that the preparatory procedures were at last back on track, the Professor switched off the audio feed, though he allowed the video images to continue to play across the monitors.

As he shifted in his chair, the Professor's arm accidentally brushed against a bulging personnel file, which sent a stack of yellowed newspaper clippings fanning across his desk.

**MERCY KILLER 'QUACK' ELUDES FBI**

Read the sensational headline emblazoned across one clipping. Next to the headline, a grainy black-and-white photograph displayed a bearded man with a round almost cherubic face. The caption read:

**DR. ABRAHAM B. CORNELIUS NOW A FUGITIVE FROM JUSTICE.**

With a weary sigh, the Professor stuffed the clippings back into the console; the Professor began to dictate in a slow, clear voice.

"This is a memo to the attention of Director X. Date, current…"

"I have met with Dr. Cornelius at the designated location…"

Designated location? The Professor found himself musing. A ridiculous euphemism for the sinkhole of urban blight where the fugitive scientist had fled in an effort to avoid capture, imprisonment, and perhaps execution.

"The meeting was cordial…"

If one can call the threat of blackmail cordial.

"… and Dr. Cornelius expressed an interest in our project and its ambitious goals…"

In truth, Cornelius was desperate to escape punishment. In the United States, the authorities dealt harshly with murderers; especially those who had taken the Hippocratic Oath.

"Dr. Cornelius has willingly agreed to our terms for employment, and seems grateful to be of further service to the service of science of medicine…"

As if he had a choice.

"However, I question whether Dr. Cornelius is the optimum candidate for such a critical position in this experiment. In the past he's demonstrated at disturbing propensity for independent thinking, as his crimes suggest."

"I also doubt his expertise will be required. There will be no tissue rejection, of that I am certain, and Dr. Hendry concurs. My bonding technique will be sufficient to sheath 'Zero's skeleton, I assure you."

Ridiculous of the Director to equate Dr. Cornelius' skills with my own. There is no comparison. I am an architect of the flesh, an artist, a visionary. Cornelius is merely a skilled practitioner of a single discipline. Can Director X not see the difference?

"Surely other researchers in the field of immunology are equally qualified and have much less… questionable backgrounds?" The Professor keyed the microphone. With a frown, he carefully reconsidered his statement and paused with a thought.

If I object too strongly, Director X will question my motives, even my loyalty. Perhaps it is better to be gracious and diplomatic, to accept this interloper as I accepted Ms. Barnes. They can both be disposed of latter, when their services are no longer required…

In the end, only results matter…

The Professor keyed his microphone. "Erase memo back to the word 'employment'." The recorder hummed, reversing itself. "I feel that Dr. Cornelius will be a valuable addition to this project," the Professor continued. "His credentials are impressive…"

But he's certainly not a genius…

"…I am sure that he will be able to assist me greatly in the coming months…"

Though I neither want nor require an assistant, no matter how qualified Director X feels this man is. Did the artist Michelangelo require an assistant to paint his vision of The Creation on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel?

"…This project is far from completion, and there is much work to be done…"

Did God require an additional help to fashion the universe? I think not.

"And of course, Ms. Karen Barnes, formerly of NASA, has also proved herself to be a valuable asset…"

The woman's acceptable, even if Director X thrust her upon me. To her credit, Miss Barnes required no additional training, and has assumed her duties immediately upon her arrival.

"She comes highly trained by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, and is proficient in the use of the REM technology; one in a few capable specialists in the world…"

Better still, the woman is malleable and easily led; the type of person who would provide an invaluable service and expect little in return. Best of all, she would ask no questions; the perfect drone, a worker bee. Certainly not a queen…

"Both individuals have arrived at the facility, and are settling in"

And Cornelius better hit the ground running, or he is less than useless to me, and to the experiment… I'm already impressed with Ms. Barnes's dedication and her considerable skills. But I shall reserve my judgment of Dr. Cornelius until I observe the man in action…

"I shall file an additional progress report of success or failure, after the adamantium bonding process is completed. Until then…" The Professor added his cyber signature, the keyed off the microphone and slumped into his chair. His thoughts were troubled.

If only men were as predictable, as tractable as the elements.

As a scientist, the Professor knew with certainty that the molten adamantium bubbling in the vats below him would melt a precise temperature. He also knew that the same substance would harden with the tensile strength greater than a diamond when cooled. He knew the precise composition of the resulting alloy on the molecular level. He understood how the various elements would bond and what configurations the neutrons would take as they circled the atoms. Yet he could not predict with any kind of accuracy how the lowliest animal wranglers in his facility would behave under the precise circumstances for which he'd been trained.

The Professor leaned back in is command chair and gazed, unseeingly at the flickering monitor. Meanwhile, inside the medical lab, activities continued pace. The technicians had finished placing the probes and were draining the coffin-shaped container. The valuable fluid would be pumped into a stainless steel vat, where it would be cleansed of impurities and stored for use in subsequent procedures. Subject '00' would spend the night in a carefully controlled holding tank, in an electronically induced slumber.

His vital signs and brain activity; what there was of it, would be monitored by a medical staff separated by an impenetrable wall of Plexiglas. Chemical compounds, fluids, and basic nutrients would be added intravenously as needed. On the console, another flashing light indicated that the procedure had ended. The Professor watched the medical team file out of the lab, stripping off their environmental hazard suits and mopping their sweating brows. His console buzzed and the gray patrician features of Dr. Hendry appeared on the central monitor.

"The probes are in place, Professor. No indication of infection. No threat of rejection. Vital signs are all quite positive." "Very good," the Professor replied. But the team leader did not log off. "More to say, Dr. Hendry?" the man on the screen cleared his throat. "I spoke with the new immunologist," he said. The Professor raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"I'm impressed by his work, but not by the man. Dr. Cornelius's theory is sound, and he seems to have solved one of the most intractable problems of the bonding process…" "I sense more than hesitation in your tone, Dr. Hendry. You may speak candidly."

"He's a common criminal," Hendry said, agitated. "He's violated the ethics of his profession. Can't we utilize his work without actually employing him?" "The procedure is experimental, much can go wrong. It's better to have Cornelius here in case unexpected complications arise." "But…" The Professor cut him off. "It's out of my hands." Hendry face vanished, to be replaced by an endless parade of scientific data crawling across the monitor. The shift in focus pleased the Professor.

The certainties of the physical world and the comprehensible working of advanced technology are infinitely preferable to the unpredictability of human thoughts and behavior.

Illogic and ambiguity had always troubled him, and the Professor longed to purge humankind of useless emotions and wanton desires. Control of the human mind was the key; but absolute control had never been achieved. Until the development of the Reifying Encephalographic Monitor, it had never been possible. Until now, the limits of the REN device had not been explored, not even by its inventors. NASA used the innovative device for training purposes, or to stage virtual reality drills. But the Professor knew the machine was capable of so much more.

They call themselves scientists, yet they behave like children, playing with a loaded weapon, never realizing its true potential…

"Sniveling cowards the lot of them…" he muttered, his voice thick with disgust. With the REM device, mastery of the human mind was within his grasp; no thought would remain secret, no desire hidden. Every hope, dream, fear, or rage could now be monitored, controlled, measured, and evaluated. Memories could be erased, personalities altered, false recollections implanted to replace real experiences. In the Professor's own estimation, the genesis of the technology behind the Reifying Encephalographic Monitor became a testament to the timidity, the lack of imagination, and myopia, which plagues the scientific community.

Pioneered by Brain Factory, a video game company in Southern California marketed the first primitive REM as a novelty device. However, early product testing proved too dangerous for human subjects. The Consumer Products and Safety Administration stepped in and banned the use of REM technology for any entertainment purposes and other commercial usages. Several researchers in the field of psychology subsequently recognized the potential of the breakthrough technology in the treatment of mental disorders.

But instead of embracing the area of study, the American Council of Concerned Psychologists spoke out against the REM device being used "until such time as for testing could be completed." Of course, no further testing would be possible without funding and psychologists and academics, fearing obsolescence should the device live up to its potential blocked any grants for research projects using the Reifying Encephalographic Monitor.

At that point, Brain Factory fell into bankruptcy, and made a bargain basement deal with the United States government. With a new infusion of cash, Brain Factory went on to produce 'It's Clobbering Time' and 'Fing Fang Foom'; two of the world's hottest computer games in the world. In exchange, the Central Intelligence Agency, S.H.E.I.L.D., and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, received exclusive rights to use the Reifying Encephalographic Monitor for "research and training purposes."

Though he didn't know how the CIA or S.H.E.I.L.D. utilized the REM technology, the Professor discovered that NASA had squandered the greatest scientific breakthrough in the history of brain research by using the REM as a training tool. Instead of tapping the machine's mind control powers to exert total mastery and control over its astronauts and NASA researchers, they limited themselves to using the device as if it were a text book, for simulations and training exercises.

The Professor would not be faltered by the same restraints. In the coming months, he fully intended to test the limits of the REM machine's untapped potential on Subject '00'.

It was not enough to transform the subject's body. No, his body must be reconstructed as well. The ultimate mastery of 'Zero' had become the Professor's goal. He knew it was only a matter of time.

The Professor knew that the physical form had certain limits, vulnerabilities. Bones, even those sheathed in adamantium steel, had their limits. And chemically enhanced muscle and sinew could still tire and fail. But a mind reduced to that of a beast-like state of consciousness, devoid of fear and doubt and desire, stripped down to the barest of conscious thought, stripped of memory and emotion, and unfazed by the dread of personal extinction, would never waiver.

In its pristine purity, such a mind would experience no pain, suffer no discomfort, would feel no remorse.

_Burn away the chaff, rip away the superficial layers of humanity and unleash the savage, unreasoning animal that lurks behind the civilized façade of every human being. Then I will mold that animal into the ultimate weapon, Zero; the deadliest implement of war ever forged. By my God-like hands, Zero will rise deadly, efficient, impenetrable, and unstoppable. But unlike the Supreme Being who gave humanity life, I will not make the mistake of bestowing free will on my creation. Busuzima and the Director have made the gravest of errors in allowing me the honor of bringing Zero into the world. Zero will be nothing more than a tool, forged only for one purpose… _

_Zero will be a tool to do my bidding. A mere extension of will… My own. _

A/N: Hello to all of you who have read my fic so far. Big Thanks to you. I haven't written a fic in a looooong time so a few **REVIEW**S would really help me out. Okay about the six months thing just so no one asks. This is a jump from when he was taken by Busuzima's retrieval team and taken to the Hive. I'm working on a fic that will explain the six months at Busuzima's 'torture chamber' as well as what everyone else is going through during six year at Hogwarts. We'll see a little bit of what happened there during these weird flashbacks you'll understand later on.

REMEMBER REVIEW FLAMES ARE WELCOME!


	4. Chapter 3:RETRIBUTION TEASER

AN: loyal fans of Primal Fury chapter 4 is on the way and to break in my newest series of fics here's a little preview of the newest PF chapter enjoy:

_Burn away the chaff, rip away the superficial layers of humanity and unleash the savage, unreasoning animal that lurks behind the civilized facade of every human being Weapon Z-23 -- the dealiest implement of war and destruction ever forged. With my careful impliments Z-23 will become a true god among men. But unlike the Supreme Being who gave humanity life, I will not make the mistake of bestowing free will on my creation. Z-23 will be nothing more than a tool whose only purpose is to execute my every whim. A mere extenstion of of will... yes...will...my own... _

**22:08:15:54**

Cutler cautiosly approached Harry, electroprod extended. _Something 'bout this poor sap doesn't feel quite right tonight._ The way Harry stood over the dead tiger its lifeblood dripping from his naked form, maybe how his eyes were only half-closed, or how his head was cocked. It was if he were listening. The fact that his muscles rippled across his body over and over again troubled Cutler.

"Watch him, Anderson," Cutler warned as they approached, warning bells seemed to go off in his head.

The sound of Cutler's voice triggered something in Harry-- a ghost of a memory, perhaps, as it seems fate destined for Cutler never to find out. Suddenly Harry lifted his head open his eyes, and locked stares with Cutler, who reeld back in shock and recognition. All the other times he dealt Harry, the man was a zombie--eyes glazed, shufffling along like a sllep walker--but this time Harry was no limp victim, no trained animal to be "handled".

_His eyes. Seen 'em before... I know who this man is..._ Cutler got a sudden flash of a memory from nearly three years ago...a teenaged boy he help kidnapped...with black hair and green eyes...

In their stupor neither man notice Harry whisper the word "no", before his body transformed into a large beast. Before Cutler or Anderson could react, faster than mere human reflexes could respond, Harry brought up his bloodstained claws and lashed out...

**/Countdown Begins: 00:00:00:00 / End Game Starts Now/execute **

**THIS IS JUST A TASTE OF WHATS TO COME BE PATIENT FOR ALL WILL BE REVEALED UNTO THOSE WHO WAIT!**

**SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT ITS GOING TO BE UP REALLY SOON ALRIGHT! LOVE U GUYS PEACE!**


	5. Chapter 3:Retribution

Primal Fury

Chapter Three: Retribution/Endgame

Prologue:

_Burn away the chaff, rip away the superficial layers of humanity and unleash the savage, unreasoning animal that lurks behind the civilized facade of every human being Weapon Z-23 -- the deadliest implement of war and destruction ever forged. With my careful implements Z-23 will become a true god among men. But unlike the Supreme Being who gave humanity life, I will not make the mistake of bestowing free will on my creation. Z-23 will be nothing more than a tool whose only purpose is to execute my every whim. A mere extension of will... yes...will...my own..._

**23:45:54 **

Cutler cautiously approached Harry, electroprod extended. _Something 'bout this poor sap doesn't feel quite right tonight._ The way Harry stood over the dead tiger its lifeblood dripping from his naked form, maybe how his eyes were only half-closed, or how his head was cocked. It was if he were listening. The fact that his muscles rippled across his body over and over again troubled Cutler.

"Watch him, Anderson," Cutler warned as they approached, warning bells seemed to go off in his head.

The sound of Cutler's voice triggered something in Harry-- a ghost of a memory, perhaps, as it seems fate destined for Cutler never to find out. Suddenly Harry lifted his head open his eyes, and locked stares with Cutler, who reeled back in shock and recognition. All the other times he dealt Harry, the man was a zombie--eyes glazed, shuffling along like a sleep walker--but this time Harry was no limp victim, no trained animal to be "handled".

_His eyes. Seen 'em before... I know who this man is..._ Cutler got a sudden flash of a memory from nearly three years ago...a teenaged boy he help kidnapped...with black hair and green eyes...

In their stupor neither man notice Harry whisper the word "no", before his body transformed into a large beast. Before Cutler or Anderson could react, faster than mere human reflexes could respond, Harry brought up his bloodstained claws and lashed out...

**/Countdown Begins: 00:00:00:00/ End Game Starts Now/execute till Commencement**

A/n: Firstly I want to thank all of you guys who read the fic and I want to answer a few questions before we begin:

This is a crossover fic with Bloody Roar with a little twist. I've added some Wolverine-ish attributes to the story element. (You know adamantium; healing also Harry has been inducted into a Weapon X-ish experiment to go along with the initial alterations done to him. Effectively making him a more perfectly formed killing machine.) I'm still working on a few other fics as I'm typing this but this one is my main priority I'm redoing the first two chaps which hopefully will be up at the same time as this one. Oh and to those who don't know 'Zero' or '00' is Harry I'm kind of experimenting with different ways to say the name so I'll be switching between the three often so please don't be confused. Thanks to jenstarfire, ambiance15 and morwen24 and Sarah my first reviewers.

UPDATE CHECK THE BEGINNING CHAPTERS AS THEY WILL HAVE BEEN REVAMPED ALSO HARRY WILL DEFINITELY BE REFERRED TO AS EITHER HARRY OR WEAPON Z-23 AS HE HAS BEEN INDUCTED INTO A WEAPONS PLUS PROJECT AFTER BEING EXPERIMENTED ON BY TYLON AND BUSU HEH HEH THOSE WEAPONS PLUS SOB'S ARE GONNA GET A BIG SURPRISE. (WEAPONS PLUS IS A SERIES OF SUPER SOLDIER EXPERIMENTS IN THE MARVEL UNIVERSE IN WITCH DURING THE WEAPON X WOLVERINE GOT HIS ADAMANTIUM SKELETON. THE X STANDS FOR THE ROMAN NUMERAL FOR 10. HARRY IS EXPERIMENT XVI THE FICTIONAL 16th TEST.)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Bloody Roar or Harry Potter they belong to J.K. Rowling. Adamantium and the Weapons Plus Projects belong to Stan Lee and Marvel.

Chapter Three: Retribution/Endgame

Countdown to Endgame: 11 Hours 56 Minutes and counting

06:05:01:51 A.M

The man pulled his parka snugly around his neck as a chilly blast whistled through the pines. With every step the autumn snow crunched under his boots. Rabbit tracks crisscrossed the trail, and overhead a raptor cawed as it drifted in lazy circles on the thin mountain air. The trail he followed ended abruptly, with a five-hundred foot drop. In the river valley below, the rushing waters churned blue-green foam and the skeletal brown trees wore an uneven dusting of white.

From a distance, the snowcapped peaks of the Canadian Rockies shimmered orange and yellow in the breathtaking vista. His blue eyes shone in the morning sun, face ruddy from the cold. Sandy hair ruffled under a wool cap, obscuring a gauze bandage that covered a two-inch gash across his forehead. Too soon, the peace of the morning was shattered by an electronic chirp.

The man grabbed the communicator tacked next to a holstered Colt in his belt.

"Cutler here…"

"Playtime's over, Cut. You have to come home now."

Cutler ignored the jibe. "What's up?"

"Deavers wants you in his office ASAP."

"Roger that."

"Looks like the major's got a job for you-"

Cutler cut him off and pocketed the communicator. He turned his back on the dawn and without a second glance, retraced his own footprints along the trail. Through tangled brush and dense pines, he noticed barbed wire and electrified fencing-the first indication of civilization.

Soon he was close enough to read the bright yellow signs posted in English and French. A few were even printed in Blackfoot Sioux, the dominant language of the Native American population in the region. No one was permitted to approach this complex. Few even knew it existed. Cutler followed the fence until he reached a security gate, where he slipped his identity card through the mag-stripe reader and entered his code on the keypad.

Above his head, face-recognition technology confirmed his identity while a retinal scanner photographed his right eye. Two seconds, three, and Cutler heard the beep. The gate opened. Inside the compound, no guards were in view-only more security cameras, x-ray sensors, and magnetic scanners.

As Cutler crossed a barren stretch of frozen ground, an animal stench floated down from the pens. He heard snorts and grunts, too. Mercifully, the wolves had stopped howling soon after the sun showed itself. Hiking beyond the concrete kennels and steel cages, Cutler headed toward a modern glass-and-steel structure that dominated a low vise.

The four-story building was topped by conical microwave towers and spidery satellite arrays. Beneath were five-levels of steel-lined tunnels, laboratories, workrooms, and storage chambers- including a moderately sized adamantium smelting facility on the deepest level.

The underground maze had been bored out of solid granite, expanding beyond the limits of the deceptively modest surface structures. So extensive was the complex that an on-site fission reactor had been installed to provide for its energy needs.

Pushing through the glass double doors, Cutler found himself, flanked by an armed security team- the same men he saw everyday. Per established security protocol, they checked his ID and searched his fingerprints.

"Out for your morning constitutional?" a guard asked. Cutler nodded. "I think nature boy was out writing poetry. Sunrise, Purple Mountain's majesty, and all that shit." said another, his tone less friendly. "Makes me wonder how the hell a guy like Cutler gets Class A security clearance in the first place."

"Same way you did Gulford, I won a contest." After a few moments later, Cutler entered Major Deavers's sparse office. The major's back was to him. He swiveled from his computer terminal and brusquely waved toward a cushioned chair. He wore a tense look on his face.

"I'll stand," said Cutler. Despite their differences in rank, neither man saluted. Technically, they were no longer in the Canadian Defense Forces, so the need for the acknowledgement of rank was not necessary or required.

"You're the security chief as of this morning," Deavers told him. "At 0830, Subject '00' is to be moved to from the holding cell on Level Three to the main laboratory." Cutler silently cursed. "The subject's already been sedated and is ready to go," the major continued. "Anti-contamination protocols are in place, so wear your environmental hazard suit. Don't bother with a weapon, though-Subject '00' is down for the count, and guns make the docs nervous, especially that twitchy one, Cornelius. So that means Corporal Cutler, no arms whatsoever."

Deavers rose from his chair. The man was ten years older than Cutler, and a head taller, too. His salt-and-pepper hair always cropped short. Jaw line smooth as a baby's ass. Even his khaki green coveralls, standard issue around the compound, appeared crisply pressed.

"And clean up your act, will ya, Cutler? Shave, comb your hair, and take a shower. The Professor is going to be in the lab today and he likes his staff sharp."

Cutler turned to go.

"One more thing," said Deavers. "Take Agent Franks with you--" Cutler stared for a moment. "Why do I have to break in the new guy? I'm no tour guide."

"Because there's no one else available," Deavers replied. "Most of the staff is tied up with this mornings experiment. The Professor's ordered double security for the rest of the day, and Erdman's still in the infirmary from that altercation in the parking lot the other night--"

"Couldn't be helped, sir."

"-- and Hill was medvaced out of here last night. Gutted by a cougar that escaped from its cage. Docs give him a fifty-fifty chance to pull through. Either way, he won't be back anytime soon."

Cutler blinked. "I didn't know."

"Look," Deavers said "Agent Franks is a real bright kid. You'll like him. He's friendly and eager and a born volunteer. Rice just briefed him on data retrieval and security protocols, and Franks got high marks. Show him the ropes and he'll lighten your load."

"Is that all, sir?"

"No. Keep the new kid away from me. I can't stomach Boy Scout types. Fuckin' hate 'em. Got too much on my plate to baby-sit a newb."

"Yes, sir. That's my job."

Deavers turned his back on Cutler, his gaze returning to the computer screen. "Get out of here!" he barked, not looking again in Cutler's direction.

Dismissed, Cutler showered, shaved, and hooked up with Agent Franks in the ready room. Franks had a boyish face and wide brown eyes. He wasn't too obvious as he checked out the cuts and bruises on Cutler's face. "Come on, Franks it's time to show you how the big boys play."

08:45:32 A.M.

As they suited up, Franks peppered Cutler with questions. "Is it true that the guy I'm replacing got mauled by a grizzly bear?"

"Don't worry," Cutler replied with a slight smile. "That was a few weeks ago, before we worked all the bugs out of our animal control procedures. Now we've got professional animal handlers on staff, so we don't have to deal with bears anymore--"

"Thank God."

"--just the big cats."

"Cats?"

Cutler's smile widened greatly. "You know about them...lions. Tigers. Leopards...Cats."

"Cats? Bears? Who needs all thee wild animals, and why?"

Cutler's grin disappeared. "You'll find out soon enough."

Many minutes passed in silence as the men donned their complicated environmental hazard suits.

"Big turnover rate around here?" Franks asked at last, lifting his helmet and testing the communicator.

"They come and go," Cutler replied. "This place has been up and running only about a year, and the research they do...Well, let's just say that it keeps changing direction. And like I said before, there are a lot of bugs to be worked out."

Franks pointed to Cutler's bruises. "So what kind of bug ripped into you?"

"Let's pressurize the suits," said Cutler, ignoring Franks's inquiry and tapping the control pad at his wrist. "You first, Franks."

Cutler's voice boomed inside the other man's helmet, and Franks adjusted the volume. Then he tapped the keypad his own wrist until tiny red digits appeared, counting down from ten.

At zero, Franks heard a sharp hiss and his ears popped. The environmental hazard suit seemed to tighten around his waist, armpits, and shoulders as the joints vacuum-sealed. The surge of claustrophobic, suffocating panic passed quickly as the rebreathing system kicked in and cool air filled his helmet. Before proceeding, Franks waited patiently for a second digital readout to verify the suit's integrity.

"Sealed," he declared when the light flashed green. Cutler sealed his own suit, and then both men stepped through a Mylar quarantine barrier into an adamantium-lined holding cell. Once inside, Cutler introduced Franks to Z-23. Harry--scalp freshly shorn, unrecognizable--drifted in a swamp-green chemical solution behind the translucent walls of the holding tank.

An oxygen mask covered his face; intravenous tubes snaked into both arms. His head wasn't the only part shaved--not a hair remained on his entire body. Follicles had been replaced by hundreds of probes that projected like porcupine quills from Harry's arms, legs, torso, throat, and groin. Long copper needles penetrated the corners of his eyes, which had been sealed shut. A number of spikes pierced his ears, nose, and even his brain through holes drilled into the temple and at the base of his skull.

"Cripes, he looks like a goddamn pincushion," Franks said as he circled the tank. His face in utter disbelief. "Who the hell is he?" Cutler paused. "A volunteer," he said shooting Franks a 'don't ask don't tell' look. Franks oblivious to Cutler studied the silhouette bobbing inside of the tank, and then shook his head. "There isn't enough money in the whole wide fuckin world to get me to volunteer for this shit."

"Maybe he didn't do it for the money." Cutler's tone harsh and firm. "You're right," said Franks. "This guy's probably a soldier, you know just like us. Maybe he's a hero or something -- an astronaut, maybe. He looks like a bodybuilder to me. Check out those arms and that chest. He's one tough looking guy. A fucking gorilla on steroids..." he mused. "Shit, just look at him." To Cutler, Harry seemed smaller now than last night in the wolf kennel. A lot less formidable, too.

As Franks paced the length of the holding cell, he noticed a team of lab technicians in lab coats observing their every move through a Plexiglas window overhead. He shuddered as he thought to himself, 'I feel like a fuckin mouse in a maze'. He turned to Cutler, "We're supposed to move this guy, right?" said Franks, trying to ignore their audience. "So how the hell are we going to get him out of the damn tank?"

"We don't, Franks. We load the whole tank-- subject and all-- onto a flatcar." Cutler replied. His tone expressing his irritation with Franks's questions. "A what?" Cutler opened a wall panel to display a stainless steel vehicle that resembled an armored golf cart. With a whine of servomotors, Cutler guided the flatcar out of the battery-charging unit and over to the bubbling tank.

It took several painstaking minutes to show Franks how to operate the flatcar, and where to hook the tank's life-support systems during transport. "I sense you've done this before," said Franks. Cutler nodded. "So hero here isn't the first volunteer. There were others..." Franks was fishing. Cutler wasn't biting. _'Fuckin' newb does he think I'm stupid or somethin'?_ He wasn't going to give anything. Not until he knew the guy better, or trusted him not to shoot off his mouth.

"He's the first human," said Cutler. Franks grinned. "Mystery solved... That's the reason for all those wild animals." "Drop it, Franks. We've got work here." Under Cutler's supervision, Franks backed the flatcar under the holding tank and activated the electromagnetic clamps that held it tightly in a magnetic grip. The tank settled in, the flatcar groaning under its tremendous weight. As the vehicle rumbled to the exit, fluid sloshed inside the crystalline coffin and the subject bumped against its transparent walls.

Cutler glanced at the digital readout on the flatcar's control panel and noted with satisfaction that the unit's life-support systems were working normally. Then he checked his watch. "I've got twenty minutes to get our friend here down to the main lab, so I'll see you later Franks." "Can't I go with you? Where are you going?" "That's 'need to know.' And you don't need to. Your security clearance ends at the elevator, so turn around and follow the yellow signs back to the changing room. Don't open any other doors or you'll violate security protocol, and you wouldn't want to do that on your first day-- makes a bad impression."

"No, sir... I mean yes, sir..." Franks turned to go, little-kid like disappointment on his face. Cutler smirked. "Hey, Franks. If you're bored, go see Major Deavers. I'm sure he'll find some action for a Boy Scout type like you."

12:26:53 P.M.

The main laboratory sat one level above the adamantium smelting plant in an area approximately the size of an airplane hangar. Typically, only a small portion of the massive space was in use at any one time, with the rest of the level dark. However, when the elevator doors opened, Cutler was astonished to find the enormous floor fully illuminated. The entire lab had become a hive of frantic activity.

Flashing red lights hit Cutler's eyes as he exited the elevator. WARNING. ZONE UNDER QUARANTINE. Red-light procedure required environmental hazard suits be sealed and pressurized before personnel entered the area. Cutler was all set. He moved forward into the steel-lined, dome-roofed cathedral--a space hollowed out of solid bedrock. At least fifty physicians, medical assistants, computer technicians, and various specialists, all clad in the same pressurized suits as Cutler's, crowded around an enormous holding tank in the center of the floor.

That tank was empty at the moment, but Cutler could easily guess who the guest of honor would be. He squired Harry forward, guiding the rolling flatcar toward the center of the lab. When the medical team saw him, they rushed him like sycophants swarming a red-carpet celebrity. His escort duties fulfilled, Cutler was shuffled aside, the hardest shove coming from his favorite scientist-- Dr. Henry, the same doctor who'd called him a "two-bit thug". Cutler scoffed. '_Fucking hypocrite_.'

In a hurry to check the subject's medical status on the display panel, Henry's voice sounded shrill over the headsets. "Heart rate, normal...Respiration is normal...Blood pressure is normal. Okay, people, let's get him to the tank, stat." A team of technicians wheeled the flatcar to the base of the mammoth tank, where a waterproof hatch on the larger vessel yawned. Using a Plexiglas sluice, the medical team attached the smaller holding tank into the larger container.

A specialist squeezed through another hatch--a neat trick in a bulky EH suit--and splashed into the container tank beside the unconscious man. First, he attached Harry's intravenous tubes and respirator to the systems built into the larger tank. Then he used a handheld sensor to check the status of the hundred or more probes piercing the subject's body--one probe at a time. The whole process took a number of minutes, and several probes were flagged and replaced by another specialist who had also squeezed into the tank.

Finally, the two men gave the doctors a thumbs-pup and climbed out. The hatches were sealed behind them and more fluid began to flow into the tank, filling it until it was near to brimming with a bubbling green liquid. As the two technicians headed for the changing room, small robots scooted across the polished metal floor, cleaning the chemical trail the men left in their wake.

Banks of computer terminals clustered around the central containment tank hummed and ticked as their systems began to interface with the probes in Harry's body. Consoles surged with energy and monitor sirens began crawling with indecipherable data that flowed endlessly. Moving unnoticed among the sea of physicians, technicians, and specialists, Cutler spied some new faces in the observation booth--an enclosed gondola ringed by catwalks that hung from the high stone roof over the center of the lab.

Behind a glass partition, a short, stout, middle-aged man with a full brown beard and thick glasses watched the containment process with peak interest. His hands were thrust into the pockets of a stained lab coat. From a distance, Cutler could read the name on his security clearance tag: DR. ABRAHAM B. CORNELIUS. The name sounded familiar, but Cutler--a news junkie-- just couldn't place it,

Next to the middle-aged man sat a petite young woman in a pale green smock. Though she had plain features, even from the distance Cutler could tell she was intelligent and intense. _'Or, more likely, compulsive and driven, like most of the eggheads around here.' _As she punched keys on a small handheld computer, the woman pushed a wisp of straight, brown hair away from her elfin face with an impatient gesture. _'Yep. Compulsive and driven,' _Cutler decided.

He turned his attention to the ceiling, where a two-ton metal cap alive with arcane technology was lowered by stout steel chains. As the heavy lid clanged into place, technicians climbed aboard to connect yet more pipes, tubes, and sensors. "The containment tank will be sealed into five seconds," a disembodied voice warned. "Four...Three...Two..." With a roaring hiss that reverberated throughout the vast domed chamber, the airtight seal was activated. "Containment

Tank sealed and pressurized," declared the disembodied voice, "Venting now..."

Rushing air ruffled papers and buffeted tanks that were disposed of in accordance with the rules and regulations of Canada's Environmental Protection Agency. In a few minutes, flashing red lights shifted to green. The voice spoke once again: "Main laboratory decontaminated. You may now depressurize your suits."

The group immediately broke their pressure seals and removed their helmets. Many began to strip away their protective clothing as well. Amid sighs of relief and celebratory laughter, they inhaled fresh air, mopping sweat from their brows or scratching a persistent itch that had been tormenting them.

Cutler removed his own helmet and gloves and tossed them onto a conveyor belt. Others did the same. The belt carried the gear over to a dumbwaiter, which transported the contaminated clothing to a sterilization room on another level.

Suddenly, Dr. Henry's voice hissed a warning to his staff. "Heads up, gentlemen. The Professor is arriving." Cutler had never seen the famous Professor up close-- only from a distance. Curious, he turned to watch the Professor glide into the lab. Already, Dr. Cornelius and the anonymous woman had exited the booth and joined the fray on the main floor. Now they watched with the others spellbound, as the master of this facility, and the genius behind this experiment moved among them.

"How is our patient?" the Professor asked. "I'm told he has a few injuries," Dr. Henry replied haltingly, his tone deferential. "Is he severely damaged?" Hendry shook his head. "Not at all." "Any deep cuts? Abrasions...We can't afford leakage." "I understand," said Henry with a nod. "We plugged him up pretty tightly. Teflon patches around all the probes, sealing the entry wounds. The subject's mouth, nostrils, ears, and anus are surgically sealed, and a catheter is blocking his urinary tract."

Abruptly, the Professor turned to address another. "Good morning, Dr. Cornelius. Are we set to begin?" As they spoke, Cutler noticed that the Professor treated Dr. Cornelius with a measure of respect-- a deference he apparently reserved for a select few. Dr. Henry was one. Now, apparently, this Dr. Cornelius merited equal treatment, which both surprised and impressed Cutler.

As the conversation degenerated into techno babble, Cutler shifted his attention to the woman. She listened in rapt attention to the two eggheads as if she were listening to the spoken word of God. Cutler shifted his feet in an effort to catch her attention, and the woman turned her forest green eyes in his direction. He locked stares with her, gave her a polite nod, and a small smile.

To his surprise, the woman looked right through him, as if he wasn't there. Something about her unblinking, almost vacant gaze disturbed him.

Finally, the Professor dismissed most of the staff. "Everyone not a part of this phase in the experiment is to depart from the laboratory immediately, post hast," he commanded. Most of the milling crowd quickly moved toward the elevator. Cutler moved to join the crush. As he pushed his way into the crowded car, he took one last lingering look at the figure floating in the tank and the scientist crowded around him. As he turned away, Cutler couldn't help but wonder just what the Professor and the rest of those mad scientists had in store for that poor son-of-a-bitch floating in the tank.

To be continued…..


	6. Chapter 3:Endgame

Primal Fury

Chapter Three: Retribution/Endgame

A/n: Firstly I want to thank all of you guys who read the fic and I want to answer a few questions before we begin:

This is a crossover fic with Bloody Roar with a little twist. I've added some Wolverine-ish attributes to the story element. (You know adamantium; healing also Harry has been inducted into a Weapon X-ish experiment to go along with the initial alterations done to him. Effectively making him a more perfectly formed killing machine.) I'm still working on a few other fics as I'm typing this but this one is my main priority I'm redoing the first two chaps which hopefully will be up at the same time as this one. Oh and to those who don't know 'Zero' or '00' is Harry I'm kind of experimenting with different ways to say the name so I'll be switching between the three often so please don't be confused. Thanks to jenstarfire, ambiance15 and morwen24 and Sarah my first reviewers.

UPDATE CHECK THE BEGINNING CHAPTERS AS THEY WILL HAVE BEEN REVAMPED ALSO HARRY WILL DEFINITELY BE REFERRED TO AS EITHER HARRY OR WEAPON Z-23 AS HE HAS BEEN INDUCTED INTO A WEAPONS PLUS PROJECT AFTER BEING EXPERIMENTED ON BY TYLON AND BUSU HEH HEH THOSE WEAPONS PLUS SOB'S ARE GONNA GET A BIG SURPRISE. (WEAPONS PLUS IS A SERIES OF SUPER SOLDIER EXPERIMENTS IN THE MARVEL UNIVERSE IN WITCH DURING THE WEAPON X WOLVERINE GOT HIS ADAMANTIUM SKELETON. THE X STANDS FOR THE ROMAN NUMERAL FOR 10. HARRY IS EXPERIMENT XVI THE FICTIONAL 16th TEST.)

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from Bloody Roar or Harry Potter they belong to J.K. Rowling. Adamantium and the Weapons Plus Projects belong to Stan Lee and Marvel.

Chapter Three: Retribution/Endgame

07:11:45 P.M.

The intercom buzzed, the sound filling the cramped quarters, waking the man in the bunk. Cutler sat up and punched the button. "Cutler here," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Your Boy Scout has been camped outside my office for the last few hours, Corporal," Major Deavers barked. "Your idea, I presume?" Cutler chuckled a bit. : Just wanted Agent Franks to familiarize himself with all the personnel and procedures around here."

"Franks is on his way to the main lab to pick up the subject. Meet him there. This time, you won't need the EH gear." "So the operation's over?" "And the patient has apparently survived. Go get him, then escort the subject to a new holding facility--Lab Two--." Cutler nodded and keyed the intercom. "No containment facilities there. That means the patient's out of the soup?"

"Yeah, for good. He's going to maximum security biomonitoring cell for post-op surveillance. Some technical types will be there to meet you and hook him up." "Roger that. Out."

Cutler stepped into his standard-issue green overalls and brushed back his hair with his hand. Then he exited his quarters and rode the elevator back to the main laboratory. When the doors opened, Cutler noticed that the huge tank was completely drained of fluid. Wired lay coiled at the bottom of the tank. Like fairy dust, twinkling silver specks of hard adamantium dotted the inside surfaces of the Plexiglas walls.

Next to the tank, in a powered wheelchair, Harry slumped, head tucked into his hairy chest. He was naked and still damp from the post-op chemical bath. His hair hung down in wet ringlets. Cutler did a double take. _'Wasn't he shaved the last time I saw him? Strange.'_ Agent Franks stood over the subject, a look of disgust marring his young face.

"Sickened?" Cutler asked as he sidled up to the young officer. Franks shrugged. "Kinda, I guess. He's still got all those probes and wire sticking out of him. That's gotta hurt." "Doesn't look like he's feeling much pain. Bastard's zonked. Out like a fucking light."

"Geez, look at this shit," said Franks. Cutler circled the chair to find think wires coiled around a hook on the seat back. "All those wires are still plugged into him," Franks said. Cutler nodded. "Let's get the subject to Lab Two. The medicos are waiting. Maybe then can all it a day."

10:26:13 P.M.

It seemed as if he'd just closed his eyes for a moment when the intercom buzzed again. Cornelius rolled of the bunk and stumbled to the terminal. He keyed the speaker, and then fumbled with his glasses. "Doctor?" The same technician, now looking positively frantic. "Yes...Status. What is it?" "He's moving now." "Violently?' The technician paused. "He just leaned forward a bit."

_'You woke me up for that? What the hell?' _Cornelius thought. "Status..." "Yes, sir." "You don't have to tell me every time the patient shifts weight." "Yes, sir...Sorry, sir." The technician vanished. _'That's it,' _Cornelius concluded. _'After twenty-two hours on my feet, I need some rest.' _ Cornelius stooped over the keyboard and pounded out a short message instructing the status tech to direct all inquiries to the Professor for the next few hours.

If the tech wants to go into panic mode before his shift ends, Cornelius figured that the Professor can deal with it. But before he could power-down his terminal, Cornelius received yet another call.

Status?" he answered.

"The patient's fine, sir. But he seems alert now."

Cornelius was suddenly awake. "He's aware?"

"He's just staring at his hands."

"Hands?"

"Yeah. The wires on his hands."

"I'd better come over," Cornelius told the man. "Call the Professor. Have him meet me there. Out."

11:15 P.M.

Endgame

It's extraordinary, is it not, Cornelius?" The Professor stared at the monitor, hands locked behind his back. "Amazing the Weapon Z-23, a creature of such power is shaken by his own shadow. Driven by fear of himself to something akin to a nervous breakdown."

Dr. Cornelius, at Carol Hines's shoulder glanced at the readouts on the woman's REM terminal. Slowly, the device's waves were being reduced, releasing Harry's brain from its murderous dream thrall. "It is impressive, Professor. More impressive still is the way he's pulling through. Fighting back. Despite it all, there's still a core element of his personality that battles on, even the odds seem hopeless. Exterior camera, Ms. Hines."

"Switching..."

The image on the HDTV monitor morphed. The frozen picture of Harry's bleak dreamscape-- a nightmare in purple and scarlet, with a desolate black void for sky and bony white spikes protruding from the virtual ground--was replaced by a chilly exterior shot of the complex.

Pale moonlight glistened of the freshly fallen snow. A frigid wind howled down from the nearby mountains, shaking diamond-dust ice crystals from the white-blanketed branches. The bitter-cold night unmarked by clouds. A spray of stars and a bright hunter's moon cut the sky's silky blackness.

The Professor leaned toward the monitor, savoring the raw power of the thing he'd created and now controlled. On-screen, Harry's naked flesh gleamed palely in the moonlight, crowned by a shock of raven black hair. Slabs of bulky muscle, rigid as concrete, plastered his chest, and thick, corded bands crisscrossed his arms, loins, and thighs. Legs spread, crouched--he was a juggernaut ready to explode, Harry's flanks quivered like an excited animal, his hot breath came in moist, steaming clouds.

The subject faced a white-striped Siberian tiger--starved, of course, as per the Professor's instructions. Man and beast stood frozen in place, eyes locked. The cat curled its lips to bare merciless fangs. "Look, Professor. I told you. He didn't buckle." said Cornelius excitedly. "He didn't flee or try to escape even though we gave him the power to do so."

The Professor placed his index finger to his lips. "Hush, Cornelius. He has found the snow leopard."

"Siberian tiger, sir,"

"Yes, thank you, Ms. Hines."

Cornelius cleared his throat. "We could have set this up better, you know." The Professor faced him. "How so, Doctor?" "If the subject actually had to hunt the cat down, confront it, to kill it of his own volition, instead of the tiger just being there, threatening him...This experiment would have been a little more telling if the subject's will were somehow engaged, I think."

"Yes," the Professor replied thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right. But still, this is an acceptable scenario for one possessing the subject's simplistic perceptions."

On the screen, the tiger opened its jaws. The snarling sound crackled through the speakers after a split-second delay. Its ferocity grew with each passing second. The snarl became a gurgling roar. Though the tiger was hungry--very hungry--it seemed cautious of its adversary. The tiger's flanks rippled, its tail flashed from side to side; the creature backed up and crouched, ears flat. Even then, it would not spring.

In the end, it was Harry who lunged first, attacking the big cat a split second before it leaped at him. The antagonists slammed into each other, Harry's arms rising and falling as he repeatedly pummeled the roaring feline.

11:35 P.M.

"Have the wranglers pick up the subject, Ms. Hines."

"Yes, Dr. Cornelius."

She tapped the intercom and a voice crackled in reply. "Cutler here..."

"Please bring the subject inside, Agent Cutler. He should be brought to D-Block this time."

11:37 P.M.

"Yes. D-Block. I know, Ms. Hines...Over."

Cutler keyed off the intercom and rubbed his tired eyes. The hatch to the armory opened and Agent Anderson entered. "What the hell are you doing here, Anderson? Franks is the name on this morning's duty roster" Anderson paused, but would not face his boss. "I guess you just got out of bed, eh, Cut?"

"Yeah, ten minutes ago. You'd sleep for three whole hours, too, if the Professor didn't have you on duty for the nuttiest experiment on the record. Z was running around on the grounds outside, lost in some kind of fucked up delusion or some shit. I thought he'd run away, but the eggheads got him under their thumbs. Shut him down until a little while ago..."

Anderson would not meet the other soldier's gaze. Cutler noticed. "What the hell is wrong with you?" "You...You didn't hear about Franks, then?" Cutler stared. "What about Franks?" "Two hours ago. The handler's were moving that Siberian from the cage to the compound. Tiger got him..."

"What?"

"Franks was prodding the fuckin thing out of its cage so Z could hunt it down. And the tiger turned, ripped Franks."

"How bad?"

"Took his arm off. Franks bled to death before Dr. Henry could get to him. Lynch wanted to shoot the goddamn thing as soon as he attacked Franks, but Major Deavers stopped him. Said the Professor would be pissed if the subject didn't have something to fuckin hunt..."

Cutler slumped onto a bench without knowing it. He stared at the far wall. "That bastard Deavers...That son-of-a-bitchin' suck up." "You can't blame it on the Major," Anderson replied. "Really, I saw the tape, Cut. There was nothing anyone could do for Franks."

Cutler nodded. Then he stood and quietly began to suit up. As he donned his Kevlar armor, he began to speak--more to himself than to Anderson. "Franks was okay," he said softly. "You could count on him. He took this job seriously, tried to do his best. Now he's just another goddamn ghost haunting this fuckin' place."

"Come on, Cut, don't take it so hard."

"Don't take it so hard? That's a fuckin' laugh. I'm not taking it at all. I feel nothing. Numb. Like I'm half-dead myself. Like I'm just a ghost, and so is everyone else in here. This...place. The desolation. This lockdown. This sick, twisted experiment..."

Anderson glanced at the overhead security monitor. "Hey, Cut...The walls have ears, y'know." "I'm not the only one, either. MacKenzie told me people are freaking out, especially in the last week or so. The Professor's been on duty, like, twenty-four seven, running that damn dream machine they have down there." Cutler locked eyes with Anderson. "You been having dream?"

"Huh?"

"Dreams, Anderson? Or nightmares?"

Anderson seemed guarded. "Who wouldn't...in a place like this?" "Well, I've been dreamin. A lot. Different stuff. Last night, I dreamed about something that happened a long time ago. When I was active duty... a corporal in the Special Forces... in another country..."

"Jesus, Cut. Don't get spiritual on me, and don't wig out. I can't take it. You're security chief. The rock, man. If you crack up, what chance do the rest of us have?"

Cutler tried to shake of the ill mood, but found it completely impossible. He blamed it on the news about Franks. The truth was that he woke up with a feeling of oppression, as if something bad were about to happen.

Or already had.

Maybe it was a premonition. Maybe he was thinking about Franks and didn't even know it.

'_Another ghost to haunt this place...'_

"Forget about it, Anderson," Cutler said at last. "I'm just pissed about what happened to Franks, that's all." Cutler laughed--a bitter, mirthless sound--then lifted his helmet. "Suit up, and let's get this over with."

As they stepped out into the cold and tested their electroprods, Cutler remembered the night that they he'd caught up with Harry, outside that rundown gin mill in that crappy part of town. He'd wondered at the time who the guy really was, knowing only that he was some ex-military or some shit like that--as Cutler himself then and now. Though as he thought about it a lot of things about the Professor's beloved subject didn't make sense, he seemed too young to be military, and the wounds disappearing, the shaven hair re-growing things didn't add up. Cutler couldn't place it but he had a feeling that he knew the subject from somewhere or that they had meet before.

At that time, when he was first brought in, Harry was considered an expendable "package"-- a piece of discarded hardware that was being recycled into something new with predictable efficiency. But suddenly, things had changed. Now Harry was the valuable commodity and the people around him were the disposable ones--guys like Hill and Franks, Anderson and Lynch.

'_And me.'_

Cutler could not help thinking that maybe he deserved what was happening. Maybe the way he'd treated Logan was coming back to him. In spades. As they moved across the snow to the scene of carnage, Cutler felt trapped, like he was stuck in an endless loop of twisted cruelty. The frozen black blood on the snow--glass smooth; the slashed animal on the ground; the smell of spilled blood. All of it gave him a shiver of deja vu, a sense that he'd been here before and would experience these things again, perhaps endlessly.

'_Just like one of the ghosts that haunts this place...'_

11:45 P.M.

Cutler cautiously approached Harry, electroprod extended. _Something 'bout this poor sap doesn't feel quite right tonight._ The way Harry stood over the dead tiger its lifeblood dripping from his naked form, maybe how his eyes were only half-closed, or how his head was cocked. It was if he were listening. The fact that his muscles rippled across his body over and over again troubled Cutler.

"Watch him, Anderson," Cutler warned as they approached, warning bells seemed to go off in his head.

The sound of Cutler's voice triggered something in Harry-- a ghost of a memory, perhaps, as it seems fate destined for Cutler never to find out. Suddenly Harry lifted his head open his eyes, and locked stares with Cutler, who reeled back in shock and recognition. All the other times he dealt Harry, the man was a zombie--eyes glazed, shuffling along like a sleep walker--but this time Harry was no limp victim, no trained animal to be "handled".

_His eyes. Seen 'em before... I know who this man is..._ Cutler got a sudden flash of a memory from nearly three years ago...a teenaged boy he help kidnapped...with black hair and green eyes...

In their stupor neither man notice Harry whisper the word "no", before his body transformed into a large beast. Before Cutler or Anderson could react, faster than mere human reflexes could respond, Harry brought up his bloodstained claws and lashed out...

12:15 A.M.

Cornelius chuckled. "That's a great campfire story, Carol. Cute. Real cute. Next you'll be telling us that Z-23 will be coming for us in the dark of night." The doctor glanced up at the HDTV monitor and blinked in surprise. "Where is the subject? And where are the wranglers?"

Hines spun in her chair. "Off camera, sir." "I can see that, Ms. Hines. Put them back _on _camera, please."

"Switching, sir." The next camera in sequence was positioned near the elevator doors. It revealed nothing. And the security cam inside the car showed it to be empty, too. Carol Hines keyed the intercom. "Security, where's the subject?" "Wranglers have him, Ms. Hines."

"Wranglers, come in," she called. "Wranglers? Do you copy?" There was no reply. "Switch to camera five, back in the field," Cornelius said. Ms. Hines gasped when she saw the new image on the screen.

In the foreground, two wranglers lay dead, hacked to pieces, their body parts mingled with the slaughtered tiger's. In the background, Harry was not visible, just a large hulking beast as it strode through a sundered chain link fence toward the elevator and the underground complex.

Suddenly, the Klaxon blare of the alarm echoed in the complex's steel corridors. "Security!" the Professor cried. "What is wrong? What is the siren for?" "Not sure," Major Deavers replied from the command center. "This could be serious, what the hell was that thing, Professor, and where is the subject? Said Cornelius. "I believe Cornelius that 'the thing' you referred to is the subject." Cornelius turned to Carol. "Shut down his transponder, Ms. Hines. That should send him into a mind loop and bring him down for good.

Carol Hines tapped her keyboard, and then slammed her fist down. "No response," she said, her usual monotone voice shaded with panic. "The Transponder is in override...from an outside source. There's nothing I can do."

"Security! I ask again: What is wrong?" the Professor screamed. "Sorry, sir," a voice replied. "This is the guard outside of your lab. Someone is breaching the security perimeter, in the elevator, on his way down here. The level is in lockdown. We're armed an--"

His words died in a terrible scream. Over the loudspeakers, Cornelius, Carol Hines, and the Professor heard shots, shouts, screams...chaos.

The Professor was visibly trembling. "Don't worry," he whispered. "We're safe behind these walls. He doesn't know we're here, he--"

A grating sound interrupted him. Four diamond sharp claws began tearing through solid steel. The door to the laboratory shook then fell from its hinges. Harry loomed in the doorway, snarling.

Desperately, Carol Hines tried to regain control of Weapon Z-23 through the REM device. As he burst into the lab, control of the subject eluded her, though she did manage to interface with Harry's brain sufficiently enough to project his thoughts.

On the HDTV monitor, Carol saw an image of herself in Harry's mind. Malignant and small--almost diminutive compared to the giant that he was. She watched horror as her virtual doppelganger was beheaded with a backhand swipe of Harry's claws, only a split second before she felt the actual swipe of death. Her own head leaped from her shoulders in a fountain of blood. While her brain died from lack of oxygen, Carol Hines considered a final irony.

'_I was right... Never should have stuck my neck out... Sure to get it chopped off...'_

Harry came at Cornelius next. As he lunged, the doctor saw his virtual twin on the monitor, in the guise of a grim, medieval torturer, with a surgical mask for a hood and angels of death--wearing the faces of MacKenzie, Henry, Chang, and many others--hovering in the background.

"That's not right," moaned Cornelius in the moment of his long and brutal murder. "I'm a doctor...A healer...I help people..."

Finally, Harry turned on the Professor. The scientist backed up. He begged, pleaded, whined, and finally howled as Harry severed one hand, then the other. Kneeling, then crawling, imploring Harry to spare his life, the Professor looked up at the monitor right before death cast its pall over him. One the screen, he saw no genius. No architect of the flesh. Certainly not a god. Not even a man, really...just a frightened, sobbing little boy crying for his mother, pleading for mercy--utterly powerless in the face of a cruel, arbitrary, uncaring fate.

Hey guys that's it the end of chapter 3 what do you think was it worth waiting for. Let me clarify some things alright first off the first two chapters don't mean anything that's what my former friend and partner came up with. I'm going to take that and make a whole new series with it so keep watch for it really soon alright. The timeline is all fudged up Harry was abducted during the summer between his fifth year and sixth year. The chapter two starts three years later chapter three is six months after that so when ever Harry returns to the Wizarding World or England at least four years have passed. Thanks to all of you patient people you guys fucking rock stay tuned and check out my new fics here's one of my newest ones Origin. A true HP/Wolverine Xover

Prologue: The Storm

"Come on Johnson; let's get the Doctor's zombie strapped down. The cafeteria closes in ten minutes and I want a hot meal. They're serving steak and fries, tonight." Using the prod, Johnson guided Logan into the diagnostic chair. Without bothering to restrain the subject's arms, as required by security protocol, Johnson started to detach the cybernetic helmet. Lynch watched him curiously.

"The Doc says to remove the dome but keep him wired on the points," said Johnson. "So we should leave the batteries on, then?" "Yeah, I guess so," Johnson replied as he detached the visor and reached for the helmet. "And set the in-line alarm right?" "Guess so," said Lynch shrugging his shoulders. "Okay alarm set." Johnson nodded to lynch and removed the helmet.

As the helmet was lifted from Logan's head, there was a sudden explosion of awareness inside of his benumbed brain. Through all of the instant confusion that was his unconscious mind.

_One more kill and I won't go to hell alone..._

Wilkins opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a shrill and sudden wail. "The alarm!" he cried. "On source, Ms. Hayes." The woman swung around and hit the source button. On the gigantic monitor, the interior of Lab Two-- Subject X's Cell -- appeared. Logan was standing, helmet gone, claws extended. His left arm was poised to strike, and from the adamantium claws on his upraised right arm, a dead wrangler dangled limply, leaking gore like a fresh side of beef on a meat hook.

Pretty cool huh just wait it gets better remember read and review...DUECES!


	7. Chapter 4:Discovery

Cornelius chuckled. "That's a great campfire story, Carol. Cute. Real cute. Next you'll be telling us that Z-23 will be coming for us in the dark of night." The doctor glanced up at the HDTV monitor and blinked in surprise. "Where is the subject? And where are the wranglers?"

Hines spun in her chair. "Off camera, sir." "I can see that, Ms. Hines. Put them back _on _camera, please."

"Switching, sir." The next camera in sequence was positioned near the elevator doors. It revealed nothing. And the security cam inside the car showed it to be empty, too. Carol Hines keyed the intercom. "Security, where's the subject?" "Wranglers have him, Ms. Hines."

"Wranglers, come in," she called. "Wranglers? Do you copy?" There was no reply. "Switch to camera five, back in the field," Cornelius said. Ms. Hines gasped when she saw the new image on the screen.

In the foreground, two wranglers lay dead, hacked to pieces, their body parts mingled with the slaughtered tiger's. In the background, Harry was not visible, just a large hulking beast as it strode through a sundred chain link fence twad the elvator and the underground complex.

Suddenly, the Klaxon blare of the alarm echoed in the complex's steel corridors. "Security!" the Professor cried. "What is wrong? What is the siren for?" "Not sure," Major Deavors replied from the command center. "This could be serious, what the hell was that thing, Professor, and where is the subject? said Cornelius. "I believe Cornelius that 'the thing' you refered to is the subject." Cornelius turned to Carol. "Shut down his transponder, Ms. Hines. That should send him into a mind loop and bring him down for good.

Carol Hines tapped her keyboard, then slammed her fist down. "No response," she said, her usual monotone voice shaded with panic. "The Transponder is in overridde...from an outside source. There's nothing I can do."

"Security! I ask again: What is wrong?" the Professor screamed. "Sorry, sir," a vioce replied. "This is the guard outside of your lab. Someone is breaching the security perimeter, in the elevator, on his way down here. The level is in lockdown. We're armed an--"

His words died in a terrible scream. Over the loudspeakers, Cornelius, Carol Hines, and the Professor heard shots, shouts, screams...chaos.

The Professor was visibly trembling. "Don't worry," he whispered. "We're safe behind these walls. He doesn't know we're here, he--"

A grating sound interrupted him. Four diamond sharp claws began tearing through solid steel. The door to the laboratory shoo, then fell from its hinges. Harry loomed in the doorway, snarling.

Desperately, Carol hines tried to regain control of Weapon Z-23 through the REM device. As he burst into the lab, control of the subject eluded her, though she did manage to interfface with Harry's brain suffienctly enough to project his thoughts.

On the HDTV monitor, Carol saw an image of herself in Harry's mind. Malignant and small--almost diminutive compared to the giant that he was. She watched horror as her virtoual doppleganger was beheaded with a backhand swipe of Harry's claws, only a split second before she felt the actual swipe of death. Her own head leaped from her shoulders in a fountain of blood.While her brain died from lack of oxygen, Carol Hines considered a final irony.

'_I was right... Never should have stuck my neck out... Sure to get it chopped off...'_

Harry came at Cornelius next. As he lunged, the doctor saw his virtual twin on the monitor, in the guise of a grim, medieval torturer, with a surgical mask for a hood and angels of death--wearing the faces of MacKenzie, Henry, Chang, and many others--hovering in the background.

"That's not right," moaned Cornelius in the moment of his long and brutal murder. "I'm a doctor...A healer...I help people..."

Finally, Harry turned on the Professor. the scientist backed up. He begged, pleaded, whined, and finally howled as Harry severed one hand, then the other. Kneeling, then crawling, imploring Harry to spare his life, the Professor looked up at the monitor right before death cast its pale shadow over him. One the screen, he saw no genius. No architect of the flesh. Certainly not a god. Not even a man, really...just a frightened, sobbing little boy crying for his mother, pleading for mercy--utterly powerless in the face of a cruel, arbitrary, uncaring fate.

Primal Fury

A:N Yo what's going on out there people. Here's the newest installment to my heart rendering series I have a challege that needs to be addressed I really need input on this for those of you who don't know this is a bloody roar crossover. And a certain characteristsic of all the Bloody Roar characters is the fact that the main characters have a beast form that they transform to Harry needs one so if you have an animal of choice let me know by review alright? Any way keep reading and reviewing my fics cause you guys know that this is what I live for. Peace... Matsu...out.

Chapter Four: Discovery

brief author's note: this chap is roughly a couple of months later sorry for skipping around on you guys but apparently the fic doesn't need a storyline or character developement or any type of fucking plot device that can be attributed to creating a great piece of work all it needs is HP characters to make it good- sorry about that I just got this reveiw that kind of pissed me off It was basically some dick saying hey cool fic but you need to put in Harry Potter Canon Characters...check my profile for my full response it's worth it... Anyway there will be some flashbacks that tie in to Betrayal and Harry's world travelling as he tries to come to terms with what they did to him. He did suffer brain damage as a result of Busuzima altering his DNA and giving him a healing factor lol another wolvie tidbit so his mind kind of scabbed over the really traumatizing stuff so all that time is really hazy and all he remembers is jumbled and cryptic... The order of the firebird also appears at some point so we'll get a glimpse of the life that everyone has had while Harry's been away...well get ready for another action packed ride...also if you want a part in either Legacy or Continuity let me know by email at matsuken2099 at yahoo dot com or go to my forum...

The 'real' Discovery

"Albus! Come quickly I believe we've found him!" Minerva McGonogall cried excitedly as she rushed into the Headmater's office waving a piece of parchment over her head franticly. "Albus we have found Harry Potter. After these three long years we've finally located him." Her face held a look of immense joy and hope at the thought of the return of the young hero of the Wizarding World. Albus leaned forward at his desk and adjusted his half-moon spectacles. "Minerva may I ask where did you get this information?" He asked quietly.

Minerva sighed slightly and handed him the parchment. "One of our search parties spotted him in a American city called Los Angeles, I believe it is located in California." Albus reached across his desk and picked up a lemon drop, completely avoiding the parchment held in Minervera's hands. He gave a satisfied smile before popping one into his mouth. "My dear Minerva, would you care for a lemon drop?" After she shook her head, he place the tin down upon his desk. "Albus we have found Mister Potter what should we do?"

Albus took the parchment and gave it a once over, before raising his eye's to meet Minerva's these are correct cordinates I presume?" Minverva nodded. "Then we will send a retrieval team." He turned away from Minerva and rose from his desk. He walked toward his back shelf and picked up a small orb. He held it in his hands before it began to glow red. "Kingsley, this is Albus come in."

Kingsley's face appeared rose from within the crysal. His baritone voice ringing out. "Yes Headmaster?" Albus wore a look of grimm determination. "Auror Shacklebolt is your strike team ready?" Kingsley's expression became one of intense concentration. "So, I take it we have located Mister Potter." Ablus nodded. "Yes I need him returned to me by the Sorting Feast tonight. But do not try to harm him. We know he has not been in Voldermort's grasp but we can never be to sure where his allegiances lie at the moment so please be as curteous to Mister Potter as possible understand?" Kingsley nodded, "Understood, Headmater you will have Potter before the Feast."

"Good Kingsley, I wish to present him to the students as well as the Order as a returning Hero. Hopefully it will boost their morale this war has been hard on all of us and now that Mister Potter has returned..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breathe. "...It might be over a great deal sooner than expected."

(PS: ARE YOU HAPPY NOW YOU StUCK UP SOB THERE'S YOUR FUCKING HP CANON CHARACTERS YA BITCH YA FUCKIN' BITCH. I'M TIRED OF YOUR FUCKIN' DIVA BULLSHIT GODDAMMIT YA BITCH...sorry I have the D on dvd and I love the search for inspirado+Angel in Disquise...KG & JB that's doing ya double team )

also read between the lines people there's a reason that I wasn't planning on writing any of the canon characters into the story for awhile...but alas it's too late for that now you'll just have to use deductive reasoning to figure everything out it's all a big puzzle I'm giving you all the pieces but it's up to you to solve the riddle...ps Harry Needs a Beast Form Still taking suggestions...

Derek Matthews was for the first time in his life carefree. He had been free for nearly three months after escaping that facility. He adopted a new name, idenity the works. But somehow he knew that Harry Potter would always come back to haunt him. He'd learned how to control the 'other him' now that he knew what he was now. And that there were others like him, problem was they weren't all that hospitable to humans or trustworthy.

Not that he blamed them after what he'd learned about Tylon and the man named Busuzima and the ZLF. He couldn't quite place but he knew those names from somewhere. The last three years were still a blur. All Derek could truly remember of any part of those three years was waking up completely nude in the middle of nowhere covered in blood. Derek was thankful for the Native American Shaman Fox, who found him and nursed him back to health. The man also explained his unusual circumstances namely his new gift, explaining to the young man what a Zoanthrope truly was. According to Fox, certain people had a special ability to become one with the "Great Spirits". Zoathropes were just another name for those individuals.

Derek, mused dryly, as he looked back on the time when he was confused and afraid, and allowed himself to smile slyly. 'If only they could see me now.' Whatever had happened to him during that mental lapse, had definitely changed him for the better. He was stronger, faster, smarter than he had ever been. Hell, now that he thought about it he was probaly stronger than most if not all humans on the planet. Not to mention his special bones, Derek looked down at his right hand as he unconsciously flexed it.

But, back to Harry Potter, Derek did remember him and his life of subtle malnipulations by a certain Headmaster, and he happily cast it aside in favor of his new existence as far as he was concerned, Harry Potter died back when his so called "family" sold him off to the high bidder. But somehow, Derek alway knew that one day his old life would come back to bite him in the ass. He just wasn't counting on that day to be today.

"Are you sure that this is really Potter. Shacklebolt?" Mad-Eye turned to face his partner as they lead their teams into position. Kingsley nodded solemnly, "Almost positive, we just need to get a visual conformation from, Nyp- Auror Tonks." He turned to face Moody, "You see the way I see it is she's the only way we can get close enough to be absolutely sure it's him." Moody nodded, " I see, th' lass is a Metamorph, so no matter what she can get in close." Kingsley sighed sofly, "Let's hope that this time it's the real deal, so to speak." He turned to face his strike team, "Alright at Auror Tonks's confirmation, we will proceed and capture the subject. Let's make it quick and clean we need to be in and out. Immediately! Understood!" At the nods that occured around Kingsley smiled. "Alright, let's bring our boy home. MOVE OUT!"

End Chapter

AN: Okay that was kinda short but hey I'm under at lot of pressure I'm Really REally sick and it's making it hard to concentrate, but don't worry the next chappie will be worth it. Right now with all my fics as I'm getting ready to post new ones I'm writting Filler chappies as to set up the really good stuff. As always Read Review because I need your feedback this fic has about twenty different plot lines flowing aroung in my head but I can't choose which to use...REad and REVIEW!


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